


pastina in bianco

by treesramblings



Series: twelve days of stuckony [9]
Category: Captain America (Movies), Iron Man (Movies), Marvel, Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Alternate Universe - 1990s, Domestic Avengers, Fluff, Italian Tony Stark, M/M, Multi, Protective Bucky Barnes, Protective Steve Rogers, Sick Character
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-13
Updated: 2021-01-13
Packaged: 2021-03-16 04:41:44
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,050
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28700859
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/treesramblings/pseuds/treesramblings
Summary: Whiles James is forced to lead an important Avengers mission in Siberia, Steve stays at the Mansion to take care of an ill Tony.
Relationships: James "Bucky" Barnes/Steve Rogers, James "Bucky" Barnes/Steve Rogers/Tony Stark, James "Bucky" Barnes/Tony Stark, Steve Rogers/Tony Stark
Series: twelve days of stuckony [9]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2073828
Comments: 16
Kudos: 178





	pastina in bianco

**Author's Note:**

> the biggest thanks in the world goes out to [blue](https://archiveofourown.org/users/fundamentalblue), who pointed out many failings in my writing that I can hopefully change and improve. she is a wonderful beta and I adore her.
> 
> I struggled writing this chapter, and I'm not completely happy with it, but I hope that it brings happiness to someone anyway. I'm blessed to have such fantastic friends and readers.
> 
> this is dedicated to all of my wonderful readers. thank you for sticking with me. <3
> 
>  _pastina_ is a specific type of noodle that is super super tiny, and _in bianco_ basically means a "white" dish, so a version of food without a tomato sauce. it's a type of food that's served in Italy when you're sick. (note: this is what I found out from research. if this is incorrect, please tell me and I'll happily edit it!)

Maria Hill stands at the front of the conference table, one hand on her hip and another on the papers in front of her. The Avengers sit in scattered seats around her with varying degrees of attentiveness. For as much as this mission is important to world safety, the atmosphere doesn’t carry the weight Maria thinks it should. She tries to tune out the sound of Barton tapping his fingers against the table.

She sighs, frustrated.

“That’s the bulk of it.” She gathers up her scattered papers, straightening them into a neat pile before laying them as a single stack in front of her. Standing up straight, she crosses her arms and furrows her brow. “This is an all hands on deck issue.”

Rogers leans forward, his hands clasped on the table in front of him, eyes serious. At least she can count on him to pay attention.

“We’ll have to be cautious about this. SHIELD is trying to stay under the radar. We can’t afford any slip ups,” he says.

Maria nods her head. “Exactly. We’ll be heading out tomorrow. Romanov is running point on this; go to her with any questions.”

“Actually, I was going to suggest that we have Barnes run this one.” Romanov flicks her eyes over to Maria. Maria meets her unflinching gaze, taking in the razor-edged posture and tense lines around Romanov’s mouth.

There’s a shift in the air, the cessation of Barton’s tapping, and then the temperature in the room drops. The room seems to reorient itself, the thickening tension coalescing around Romanov like a blanket. Maria clenches and unclenches her fist—at least they’re giving _someone_ their focus, even if it isn’t her.

“Bucky?” Rogers says. “Why?”

Romanov turns to face Barnes. “He and I've discussed our previous experiences in Russia before. When the KGB borrowed the Winter Soldier to train the Red Room candidates, he was also loaned out to the secondary Soldiers.”

Ice crawls along the walls of the room. Barnes’s face is blank, and his posture is stiff, as if expecting an attack at any moment.

Romanov lowers her gaze with an inclined head, and Barnes speaks, voice flat. “The facility is one I've been to before. The layout's familiar to me. I agree with Natasha’s assessment—allow me to take the lead on this mission and I will ensure success.”

Maria tenses, ready for Barnes to lose his control at any moment. She doesn’t think that he will, but she’s always prepared for it. She prays that Stark was being honest when he reported his newest invention’s success being closer than ever. All of SHIELD will take a collective sigh once HYDRA no longer has the ability to control the Winter Soldier.

“That’s reasonable,” Rogers says. “Okay. Bucky will be lead, with Nat acting as back up.”

“Are we done?” For the first time since the meeting began, Stark looks up from his communicator. “I have some things I need to do before we leave.”

“Dismissed.” Maria picks up her papers and begins walking toward the door. “Departure is at 0700 hours tomorrow. Don’t be late.”

“Fantastic,” Stark says, standing up from the chair. “I’ll be in the l-la…”

Maria rushes forward, her papers flying from her hands, just as Stark’s face pales, his grip on his communicator slipping and his eyes rolling into the back of his head. Barnes is there before her, catching Stark in his arms with a fierce expression. His eyes dart around the room, looking for the source of Stark’s collapse, but Banner kneels on the ground next to them, assessing Stark.

Several things happen at once, but it all culminates to a single result, discovered an hour later in Banner’s lab: Stark has pneumonia.

Barnes is _pissed_ , barking demands for an IV and medicine. Rogers is pacing back and forth next to Stark’s cot. Van Dyne is curled up in Stark’s collarbone, her tiny hands resting over his pulse point.

“We’ll have to do the mission without him.” Romanov’s voice is curt as she runs a hand through her curls. Maria glances over, takes note of Romanov’s concern, and then nods her head, tired.

“I don’t look forward to telling Barnes and Rogers.” Everyone at SHIELD knows how protective Rogers and Barnes are of Stark—Stark’s kidnapping two years ago by HYDRA and the resulting decimation is still talked about in hushed, reverent whispers. She rubs at her eyes with her palms.

“Barnes will still be going. He knows how important this is,” Romanov says. She tilts her head to the side, considering, and then drops a bombshell on Maria. “Steve is staying. Barnes won’t leave Tony alone otherwise.”

“Iron Man _and_ Captain America absent from this mission?” Maria sucks at her teeth. A headache is already forming. “Of all the timing for him to get sick.”

“Tony didn’t plan to get sick.” Romanov’s eyes are hard like steel, matching the set of her tense shoulders and the furrow in her brow. Maria blinks in surprise. “We’ll make do. It’ll lessen the stress of everyone worrying about Tony if Steve is here, anyway.”

“Stressing over a teammate who’s sick shouldn’t be something the Avengers worry about during _top level missions_.” Maria crosses her arms.

Romanov turns to face Maria fully. “Hill. I know you’re not used to being the Avengers handler since Coulson had to be reassigned. But don’t question our dynamic. We work together as well as we do _because_ of our bond. You could stand to learn that.”

Maria bristles, her back straightening and nails digging into the meat of her arms. Maria is a _commanding officer_ , and even if Romanov is an Avenger, Maria earned her spot and worked her way up the ladder with her cunning and knowledge. Romanov treating Maria like a green agent sends an avalanche of indignation through her.

With her words having hit the intended mark, Romanov exits the viewing area and enters Stark’s medical room. Her face softens into an expression Maria’s never seen on her.

Barnes turns to meet Romanov’s gaze, and his expression falters for a moment. Romanov places her hand on his shoulder, and it’s as if the wind beneath Barnes’s sails is gone.

Maria watches the scene for a moment longer before turning away. As long as they do their jobs, Maria won’t fault them for their methods.

* * *

“ _Bed rest_ , Tony. I don’t understand how you even have the energy to complain about it. If I come back and you’re still sick, I’m gonna be angry.”

“I can handle it, Brucie.” Tony sighs. His head hurts so much he can barely see, but Tony isn’t going to let it stop him from working.

Bruce stares at Tony with an unreadable look. He turns to Steve.

“Bed rest,” Bruce says.

“Bed rest,” Steve agrees.

“Aw, come on.” Tony bats his eyelashes and pouts. “Steve will be right there in case something happens.”

“No, Tony.” Steve’s voice is firm. Steve meets Bruce’s gaze just long enough for Bruce to sigh, standing up with a stretch.

“If you feel hungry, go easy on the food. Extremis should get the infection out of your system sooner than average, but this just goes to show you can still get sick. Be careful. I’ll see you guys later.”

Bruce exits the room, leaving just Tony and Steve. Tony drops his innocent expression with a glare, focusing on the wall opposite Steve as frustration courses through his veins. Each breath he takes is painful, and it seems harder and harder to fill his lungs completely. He hates feeling so weak.

Steve is a heavy presence next to Tony.

The door opens, cutting through the tension, and James enters. Tony glances over at him and averts his eyes immediately; the light from the other room through the door is blinding. When it’s closed, Tony’s eyes readjust, and he intimately recognizes the expression on James’s face. Tony knows he’s not going to like the conversation that follows.

“Doll.”

“I’m twenty-six. I’m a grown adult.”

_“Doll.”_

It’s too much. Tony bursts, and yelling _hurts_ , but Tony needs to say this, can’t let himself be seen as weak. “I can take care of myself! Some stupid cold isn’t going to keep me down! Just because I passed out _one time_ doesn’t mean I’m going to again! I can handle myself. I don’t need you to protect me!”

James’s face is like stone as he stares Tony down. His arms are crossed over his broad chest, and Tony _hates_ letting James down, but he’s not a child. He’s not going to let his boyfriends treat him like he’s their kid. He’s going to stand his ground.

“Anthony,” James says, and his voice is soft for all his posture is strict, “I will always protect you, whether you want me to or not. I will always care for you. I have to go on this mission so I can make sure these threats to your safety are killed, but I do not want to. I would stay here with you if I could and nurse you back to health.”

Tony’s lip wobbles, and he bites it, a bubble of sheer feeling inside of him pressing at his senses, like a threatening broil of emotions. James comes over to the other side of the bed, sitting down and grabbing Tony’s hand. Tony’s hands are clammy and gross, and the urge to pull his hand away builds in his chest, rapid and consuming—but this is James, and he’s been by Tony’s side for nine years, and James makes the wrongs Tony feels disappear.

“My dearest Tony,” he whispers, “please listen to Steve. Let him take care of you. I can’t focus on the mission if you don’t tell me you’ll be okay without me.”

Tony’s chest already hurts, like a horse has trampled over his ribs and sternum, but a new level of pain comes at the thought that James could be hurt if Tony doesn’t promise him this.

“I promise, James,” he says.

James leans down, capturing Tony’s lips in a soft kiss, and runs a finger over the soft hairs on Tony’s eyebrow.

“I have to get ready. I will come back to you soon.”

“You promise, too?” Tony breathes. His voice is rattly, and Tony coughs after. Even still, the words are so soft James shouldn’t be able to hear them, but he does.

“I promise.”

* * *

The next day, Tony and Steve say goodbye to James. Once the two of them are able to watch the Quinjet fly off into the distance, Tony turns to Steve and says, “I’m going to my lab.”

“You are doing no such thing.” Steve’s voice is flat, the words quick and curt. “You _just_ promised Bucky you’ll listen to me.”

“What James doesn’t know won’t hurt him.” Tony coughs into his elbow and ignores the pain in his chest. “And I know you’re not going to tell him because you don’t want to distract him from the mission, either.”

The veins in Steve’s neck stand out, and his face darkens, like the sky right after the eye of a hurricane has passed over. Tony doesn’t back down, even as his head swims, and he breathes in again before his body just rejects the air, and he’s coughing and choking and his lungs are trying to crawl their way up his esophagus and he can’t breathe and—

“It’s okay.” Steve hushes Tony, soft noises of air, and holds Tony up with a big hand covering Tony’s back. “Shh, Tony. It’s okay.”

When the episode is done, Tony falls back down to the bed, and tears prickle at the corners of his eyes, defeated. “I’m not a child.”

He sounds like a broken record.

“I know, Tony. I know.”

Steve pulls out a copy of _Catch-22_ , opens it to the first page, and begins to read. “It was love at first sight. The first time Yossarian saw the chaplain, he fell madly in love with him…”

Tony falls asleep to the sound of Steve’s voice, relaxing and even in tone, and doesn’t dream.

* * *

“Baby.” Steve’s voice floats into Tony’s awareness, the sudden sound of words to his still waking brain too loud, and Tony groans in protest. He whimpers at the pain in his chest and his lungs. “I know, sweetheart. You’re sweating too much. You need to take your medicine.”

Tony sits up with Steve’s help, the thousand pillows behind him soft and relaxing on his back. He blinks open his eyes and rolls his head to face Steve.

“Are you hungry at all? You think you can eat?” Steve asks.

“I—I guess.” Tony’s cough overtakes him and Steve holds a tissue up in front of his mouth.

Tony hates this.

Steve throws out the tissue and then sits on the bed next to Tony, balancing a bowl on a tray in his hand, and Tony peers into the bowl.

He stops, his thoughts racing behind his frozen body, and after what feels like hours he looks up into Steve’s blue, blue eyes.

“Where did you get this from?” His voice breaks, not unlike a frog’s croak. “Did you make this?”

“You told me about it a while ago, actually.” Steve’s face flushes, bashful and embarrassed. “Said your mom used to make it for you when you were sick as a kid.”

Tony stares at the pastina in bianco. The amount of cheese mixed in is ideal for Tony’s tastes. Just from eyeballing it, the pastina appears perfectly al dente, and a tidal wave surge rocks him off his feet.

Tony doesn’t know what expression is on his face, but Steve’s gaze softens, the crinkles around his eyes smoothing out. Steve scoops out some noodles and blows on the spoon, and Tony’s heart tightens as Steve brings it over, feeding it to Tony.

A childhood memory encompasses his vision. 

_His mama is sitting in front of him at her family’s mansió in Alghero. His àvia and avi are off to the side, drinking glasses of wine. His cosina sits next to him, wrapped in a blanket and resting on an outdoor bench._

_“Beth, how are you feeling, dear?” Maria asks._

_“Hungry, tia,” his cousin coughs. Tony moves the rook on his chessboard._

_“Would you like some pastina in bianco? I could sneak you some Pecorino Romano, if you want.” Maria winks, conspiratorial, and Beth smiles._

_“Yes, tia.”_

_“Can I have some, too?” Tony asks._

_Maria turns toward him with a smile. “Of course, my love. Next time you’re sick, I’ll make you some. It’s special, just like you.”_

“Is that Pecorino Romano?” Tony asks. He swallows.

“Yeah,” Steve says, and Tony takes another bite of the pastina.

The bowl is about a fourth empty when Tony turns to face Steve more fully, and he asks, voice low, “You know I’m going to be fine, right? This isn’t going to kill me.”

Steve nods his head, but his shoulders are stiff as he puts the spoon back in the bowl. “I know. But… You just remind me of how I was before I became—became _this_.” He gestures down toward his body, and all at once, Tony gets it.

A ninety-five pound boy with a list of ailments longer than his arm. Rattling coughs and asthma cigarettes and deadly winters. James crying when Steve’s asleep because he doesn’t want to call the Father and ask for him to perform Steve’s last rites.

“I remind you of you,” Tony says.

Steve is quiet, and then, “Yeah. Yeah, Tony. Me and Bucky both.”

And Tony thinks back to how James had looked when Tony had woken up after passing out, how his eyes had been wide and terrified and _relieved_ , how Steve had been holding his hand as tight as he could without breaking Tony’s bones, of the constant fretting and worry taking on a new light.

“I was always scared I was going to leave Bucky alone.” The light in the room disappears, like a spotlight is focused on just the two of them, and the cascade of emotions across Steve’s face are shadowed and tragic. Steve’s gaze is on the pastina in his lap, but Tony can tell he’s not seeing it. He’s not seeing anything in 1996 at all. “Every time I got sick, I thought, is this the last time? Is this the time I leave Bucky alone? And I hated it. I took that fear and twisted it into anger, and I argued with Bucky every time he just tried to take care of me. I was… I was deserving of the nickname _punk_.”

Tony leans forward and trails a hand over Steve’s fist, and Steve unclenches it, slow and halting, until Tony can grasp it in his hand.

“I’m sorry,” Tony says. “I shouldn’t be treating you and James this way.”

“I was the same, Tony. I understand.”

“You still don’t deserve this.” Tony’s breath is shaky, but he soldiers on, and he says, “I know I would be the same if you were sick.”

Steve huffs, the half smile on his face beautiful and alluring for all it’s like viewing home. “I think Buck’s the only one who isn’t a disaster while sick.”

Tony nods, bringing Steve’s hand up to kiss. Steve finally looks up from the pastina, catching Tony’s gaze, and bites his lip.

“I love you, ya know?” Steve says.

“I know, Steve. I know.”

Steve sets the pastina to the side and leans forward, his hand cupping Tony’s cheek, and his forefinger rubs up and down against the soft skin on Tony’s cheek. His beard scratches against Tony’s face when he kisses him, and Tony lets his eyes flutter shut.

Eventually, when Tony has finished the pastina, Steve helps him take his medicine. The two of them curl up under the blankets together, and Steve pulls Tony against his chest as he grabs _Catch-22_ off the side table.

“There was only one catch and that was Catch-22,” Steve read, “which specified that a concern for one’s own safety in the face of dangers that were real and immediate was the process of a rational mind…”

Tony listened to the sound of Steve’s breathing, to the words he spoke, and allowed his tired muscles to form a smile.


End file.
